


I See Fire

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Closeted Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Firefighter Benny, Firefighter Castiel, Firefighter Dean, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Intense, M/M, Mild Language, Openly Bisexual Dean, Past Relationship(s), Slow Build, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benny tipped his head back, moving toward the glass pane if not to sedate his curiosity. He could only see a head of whipped caramel, a broad pair of shoulders, and a blimp emblem that couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than Zeppelin, but he wasn’t complaining. </p><p>The guy breathed perfection. From that Ferrero Rocher crew cut (skipping lunch was not a smart move) to emerald greens and the body of an Adonis, this guy was something out of Playgirl. Every time he so much as inhaled, his muscles expanded underneath his shirt.</p><p>“I’m guessing by the big sign outside that says Station 205 that I’m in the right place,” he said, baring his teeth in a smile that should’ve been illegal.</p><p>Or the one where Dean Winchester enters like Sandman and completely unravels Benny's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shalinabianca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalinabianca/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Burning Up for You, Baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680874) by [you_idjits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits). 



> Psych's episode "Earth, Wind, and... Wait for It", Ty Olsson plays a local firefighter. What more can you ask for, really?

**Prologue**

There’s nothing like the smell of formaldehyde to pinch those early morning nose hairs. Most of the content from the doubled over jars was charred to a crisp, along with everything else. There was no way a coroner was this careless. Best guess, some bastard that owed money with all the wrong people. Or the culprit needed to cough up an arm and a leg—quite literally, it seems—for his medication. The economy was an under-oiled machine and that, exercised with enough push to call it a shove, can drive anyone to commit a crime. Body parts are a sellout on the black market these days.

The ceiling hung menacingly over his head. Crunching underneath his war-torn waders was great hunks of drywall that looked like they’d been manhandled and put through the grind. The distance, though shrouded by umpteen layers of smoke, gave away the faint illumination of a body. The real challenge was crossing the few-footed threshold without brushing against anything of potential danger to him or the casualty.

Which, in retrospect, was just about everything around him.

As if on whim, he began to feel the humidity inside the confined space sticking to his skin like a vacuum seal bag. He took a step forward, bracing for the probability that it might be his last. When he bent down and felt something stiff underneath his patted gloves, he knew he’d found the sufferer. He overturned the body so that it was lying face up toward him, careful where he repositioned it not to put the person in more harm’s way than necessary.

What he saw left him gobsmacked in the middle of everything.

“Winchester!” he wailed through his facemask. He shoved his chest, where a state-issued fireman’s t-shirt two sizes too large was the only thing shielding him from the crumbing world around him. “Hey, Dean!” he tried again, desperate for a response, any response. Without hesitation, Benny’s hands were flying to Dean’s torso, pumping several times before bending into his personal space to proceed with mouth-to-mouth.

Moments passed and silence returned his mute prayer. Fortunately, he was light enough that Benny couldeffectively haul him into his arms and carry him out. Whether or not he was carrying out a corpse was beyond his grasp. It’s not like it would be the first time.

The last thing he saw was the ceiling circling around him. Then the world faded to black.

***

“This isn’t Disneyland, boys, I don’t pay you to dick around!”

That was the voice of Ellen Harvelle, Station Manager of 205.

“Damn straight, I get more dick at Disneyland.” And that was Benny Lafitte. While Ellen watched over her Boy Scouts like a mother hen behind her big office desk, she was blind to some of the extracurriculars the members of her team were involved in. Which was good, Benny wasn’t into oversharing at group therapy.

Captain Novak regurgitated his last coffee intake. “I’m afraid to ask if you’re joking.”

“Whatever you do, don’t ask ‘bout Legoland,” he replied, raising his own lidded cup.

Castiel—better known to the department as Cas by his strange bedfellows—leaned against the spine of the island countertop in the break room, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Many times Benny’s recreated that same scene in his head, only it’s his hand pawing into that mangled mess of hair. Cas was a ridiculously handsome dude, from his marble-blue eyes to those thighs crafted for optimum straddling. 

But alas, like all good things in this world, he wasn’t on the market. Benny found out not only two weeks after he started with the department that he had a girlfriend, April something-or-other. Except, strangest thing, he’s never brought her around the station in the ten years he’s been employed there. Castiel’s pushing his twelfth.

He never had much time to think about it because the bell would always sound when he just started to get comfy, but today was surprisingly low-key. For five seconds, the people of El Dorado have managed to stray away from indoor smoking and faulty wires. He was trained to be vigilant, nonetheless—always prepared for the next disaster.

“You hear about the new guy?”

Benny snapped his head back to Cas. “We have a new guy?”

“Yeah, transfer from Lawrence, I think.”

“Lawrence? That’s a helluva long way to relocate.”

Cas shrugged, obviously not too invested in the matter to have given it any serious thought. “Better pay, maybe seniority time. Lawrence is a small town.”

“Can’t be that old if he’s a transfer,” Benny supplied, curiosity prickling his veins. It wasn’t often that a new face joined the team. Hopefully he wasn’t disappointed, lest it happens he was looking for steadier pay. There hasn’t been talk of that in five years, at least. And that was after the crew dismembered the mayor’s place and saved his prized dog.

The blue-eyed fireman craned his head toward the window. “Take a look for yourself.”

Benny tipped his head back, moving toward the glass pane if not to sedate his curiosity. He could only see a head of whipped caramel, a broad pair of shoulders, and a blimp emblem that couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than _Zeppelin_ , but he wasn’t complaining.

Whoever he was, he sure was getting along with Gadreel, the strapping firefighter hosing down the truck. Gadreel nodded reverently, waving to the upper level where the two men were currently residing in. The man followed his finger and smiled graciously. Then he was sidling up the garage to what he presumed was the main office.

Gadreel was fairly new and, for whatever reason, hardly ever worked outside the garage, so it wasn’t surprising he was led here—which, again, Benny definitely wasn’t complaining. The guy breathed perfection. From that Ferrero Rocher crew cut (skipping lunch was not a smart move) to emerald greens and the body of an Adonis, this guy was something out of _Playgirl._ Every time he so much as inhaled, his muscles expanded underneath his shirt.

“I’m guessing by the big sign outside that says Station 205 that I’m in the right place,” he said, baring his teeth in a smile that should’ve been illegal. “But I’ve been known to be wrong on more than one occasion, least that’s what my partner tells me.”

Benny probably shouldn’t have laughed as hard as he did. Cas spoke on his behalf when he was about to double over. “Yeah, you’re in the right place.”

“Oh, cool,” the gentleman replied, offering his hand. “I’m Dean.”

Cas lent out his and nudged Benny in the ribs. For a small dude, he sure had a bite. “Cas.”

“Benny,” he ended up wheezing, gripping the counter with white knuckles. What the hell was so funny anyway? “Nice… to meet you.”

Cas rolled his eyes, gesturing toward Ellen’s office. “You’re gonna wanna check in with Harvelle down the hall. She’ll get you through the enrollment process.”

Dean flashed him a brilliant smile. “Thanks, I—uh, is he okay?”

“He has bad asthma. He’ll be fine.”

“Oh, my brother’s an asthmatic, too,” the handsome stranger replied, more lenient (if that was even possible at this point) toward Benny, “Lamaze is great for kicking the early-on symptoms of an attack. Word to the wise, take my advice before you wind up in a pregnancy class with your younger sibling.”

With a gamely pat to his shoulder, Dean headed into Harvelle’s room. Castiel shook his head as he brought the outstanding liquid inside his stupid little eco-friendly cup to his lips. “You’re so screwed.”

“Asthmatic, really?” Benny sighed, regaining his posture.

The other man directed his gaze out the window once more. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

***

Later that week found an undiagnosed Pseudobulbar Benny in his workman’s locker.  Twelve in the morning left most of the crew to the rec room downstairs, shooting pool and scoping out the selection that bustled through the door, which was every broad from Heather Locklear to Scarlett Johansson. Benny would pretend to be interested in the sexual proclivities of his coworkers, what with his signature lopsided grin and southern charm, but tonight was reserved for moonlighting with a little lady named Nostalgia.

His uniform, complete with hat and boots, was inside the rented space. Hung with two thin pieces of Scotch tape on the back of his door, the edges soiled and upturned, was a picture. In it was a man, mid-twenties by a glance, with shaggy blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes. A younger, more refined Benny Lafitte was on his arm. If he spent the time—that is, if he _had_ time to spare—sifting through his personals, he’d without a doubt find copycat prints. But this picture, this single glitch in time, was something of a keepsake.

Of course, if anyone within reasonable vicinity found out he kept a picture of a man too handsome to be a friend or a brother, they’d crucify him until the end of his days.

He turned the photograph over in his hands, the material soft underneath his brittle digits.  _8-29-01_ —there’s nothing like a single date to bring back a thousand memories.

Behind his locker, a man in nothing more than low-hanging brown khakis and suspenders faced him with a determined expression. Benny couldn’t forget a face like that. The guy was a vision top to bottom. He’d also gained quite a nice reputation around the station in short order that made the fireman kind of envious.

Dean curled his lip in a way that shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. “This is kind of embarrassing, but do you have a shirt I could borrow? I may or may not have dropped a rib or two down the front.”

“It’s twelve at night,” Benny chided, mostly as a defense mechanism to build against that perfectly tanned, evenly creased upper bod in his direct line of vision. “Where did you even find a place that serves twenty-four barbeque?”

The newbie licked his fingertips, coated in brown sauce. “Biggerson’s, man, best joint in town.” He paused to issue a moan just as Benny tossed one of his department spares at him. The action terminated that oddly licentious sound, thank God. “Sammy and I dine there on Fridays when I’m on holiday.”

“Sammy, that’s your girlfriend?”

Dean chuckled as he pulled the jersey over his head. Benny had a thicker torso, which was more than evident when the loaned shirt sagged around the biceps. “No, even though he sometimes acts like one. Sammy’s my little brother.”

“Ah, right, the one baring child,” Benny kidded, leaning against the cool metal.

Again, there was that brilliant smile, pearly whites and all. “He’s a good kid.”

“You sound like his dad.”

“I practically am,” he said, not a wave of hesitance in his tone, “I raised the little dude since I was five. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have coined him little; the guy’s six-foot-four, pure muscle and Hemsworth hair.” It was Benny’s turn to laugh at the exaggerated delineation.

“I take it he’s part of the reason you transferred.”

Dean nodded, joining him against the locker. “More or less, he’s the only family I have. It’s kind of always been my job to look after him. I guess old habits die hard.”

Benny didn’t want to seem like he was prying, especially on such a sensitive note, but he didn’t want this conversation to end. Not when the bell could toll any minute and he still had so much to learn about Mr. Perfect—or Mr. the Basic Concept of Laundry Mystifies Me. “What about your girlfriend? Or boyfriend…I mean, you know, to each his own.”

“Neither, no,” he replied, a smile tugging at his face, signifying his leniency toward both. The senior fireman drank in this new information with a curt _hmm_. “What about you?”

Benny whipped his head around the corner then back at Dean. “Wait, you mean me?”

“Yeah, you,” the younger laughed. “You’re reasonably attractive.”

Benny’s thoughts were doing double handsprings. It took a full minute until he processed what he presumed was a compliment. “Only reasonably?”

“Very reasonably,” he affirmed, cheeks flushed, eyes transfixed on the wall in front of him.

Normally, he wouldn’t flip the jig on his sex life, especially not on the job, but there was something about Dean that was so familiar, so easy. So the older gentleman shook his head. “No, that’s ancient history, he’s ancient history.”

“Good, then he won’t mind if I asked you out on a date.”

Benny’s brain short-circuited. For a second, he thought he heard the words “you” and “date” in the same sentence, which would have been totally impossible. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You…me…date,” Dean repeated, enunciating each word with the small quirk of his mouth. “I mean, obviously sometime when we have more than a couple hours on our hands.”

Like gears cranking in his head, his whole system went into lockdown before he could say anything. He could blurt the obvious answer, but Benny decided to have a little fun. “Judging by that barbeque stain on your nose, I take it I can safely discount anything other than Biggerson’s Famous Ribs?”

The green-eyed fireman’s face blanched with embarrassment. He ducked his head, using one hand to scratch the tip of his lightly freckled nose, the other to blindly scratch his neck. It was an idiosyncrasy so human that Benny found himself blushing despite his comment. And that’s how he scored a night out with the hottest—no pun intended—fireman in town.

***

“You’re telling me _El Dorado_ wasn’t filmed in Kansas,” said Garth “Fizzles” Fitzgerald IV. (Only one unfortunate man could be cursed with a name like that.)

Adam bit into his breakfast croissant, spewing crumbs as he said, “Isn’t _El Dorado_ a comic?”

“That’s _El Diablo,_ ” piped Charlie Bradbury, head firefighter technician. Her personality was much like her hair: Red like the fire coursing through her veins. Her heart burned for just about anything that screamed ‘Danger!’ She was a good kid.

Following as next in line for rebuttal was Sargent Cole Trenton. He had his arms crossed, his stance as firm as his answer: “ _El Dorado_ was filmed in Tucson.”

“I thought it was Kanab.”

“Stop making up words, Chuck,” Garth reprimanded, causing the remarkably shorter man to retreat to his flask. He may have been the Commissioner, but Chuck Shurley had little to no patience underneath that mountain of facial hair.

“Just look it up on your phone.” By the tone of his voice, Cole was about to open up a fresh can of whoopass. Luckily, the station had revoked his “constitutional right” to carry a gun onto the premise. Trenton served in the Corps _and_ the Congo and did it ever show. He’d bust someone’s cap for so much as looking at him funny if he wasn’t collecting his pay.

Garth journeyed across the rest of the room, wagging his finger. “I don’t need to look it up; John Wayne’s a man of his word. It’s ya’ll I don’t trust.”

“He dropped it in his soup,” mumbled barely-functioning alcoholic Chuck.

Both men were smirking, but it was Adam who said, “He—you dropped it in your soup.”

Garth was a gangly dude, making it hard to take him seriously when he adopted the same defensive position as, say, John Wayne. “I was hungry. And it was a damn tasty soup.”

Benny was an unfortunate witness in the whole exchange. In light of recent efforts, he was promoted to Lieutenant—at least that’s what he hoped the extra sounding bugle denoted—so, by law, he could stop this middling little tiff. ( _El Dorado_ was filmed on location in Arizona and Utah. Really, it was American Western 101, hard to complicate.) But instead, he traded mock glances across the room with Dean, who graced him with a sneaky wink.

There were very few times when Benny blushed—in his line of work, it meant faulty equipment which led to circulation problems—but today was not one of those days.

“What do you think, Dean?” Charlie chimed, a flirty smile crossing her face. The guise would’ve been something Benny would worry about if she wasn’t a lesbian.

Dean waved away the inquiry with the polite turn of his head. “I don’t think much of it.”

“You don’t like John Wayne?” Garth turned to the gang, aghast at the implicit confession. “He doesn’t like John Wayne.”

Benny could tell by the looks of him that the Lawrence native was going to pursue a point. Sure enough, Dean was folding his robust arms and rattling off names of the dying famous: “Robert Mitchum, Johnny Crawford. James Caan, man. It’s hard to top _Misery_ —and _The Godfathers_ , I mean, who doesn’t fall in love with the Corleone’s? Especially Don Vito, you can’t deny that the guy was a head turner in his younger days. _El Dorado_ was a decent film, considering the two most remote locations Howard Hawks filmed in. Only the elite in Hollywood get that kind of access.

It had a great lineup, sure. And there’s no denying Hawks’ ingenious, that’s evident in _Scarface_ , but what ever happened to _Rio Bravo_ or _Red River_? Those are the films that are gonna span across millennium. Those are the pictures that really define John Wayne as a rugged, diehard character. Well, unless you watch _The Birdcage_ , then—let’s just say, you’ll be singing a different tune before the credits roll.”

If choking on plot-thickening tension was a real condition, Benny would be seven ways to the ER. Everyone’s eyes were fixated on the ballsy fireman lazing by the _Mr. Coffee_. The twenty-something just did this adorable head tilt in Benny’s general direction, as if to compensate for the phrase-turned-rhetorical, _Oops?_

The ringleader of the original argument cast a glance to the serving Captain. “Cas?”

But Castiel had his nose practically jammed against the glass window that he and the Lieutenant had been using as a peephole a few days ago. Before anyone could attempt to jostle a response out of him, the fire alarm tolled and everyone evacuated the top level faster than the winning horse at Kentucky Derby.

All except for one. “Cas, hey,” Benny said, nudging his shoulder. “Dude, what the hell, we—”

And then Benny understood after he sidestepped him to get to the window. Idling beside the fire truck was none other than a sweaty and very shirtless Gadreel. Castiel stood in absolute horror (probably one of his first expressive emotions), as he grappled for words within his choosing: “I—uh, um—we have some beautiful scenery outside.”

“I’ll say,” was the last thing Benny said before he and Cas hauled ass out of the station.

***

The crew headed westbound on Hampton to find a three story infrastructure being coerced into a blazing demolition. Granted the time of day was opportune for rush-hour traffic, the drive took six minutes. It would take another minute to unload the truck and, judging by the naked eye and past experience, thrice the original time to hose the exterior down. And that was if Mother Nature cooperated, which she rarely ever did.

The damage was catastrophic. In just under seven minutes, a thick layer of smoke glazed the navy sky. The sound of chaos rang through the air like a deaf choir. There were three trucks and twice as many EMTs on commission, all sounding their alarms in unison. If and when Judgement Day came, this was no doubt what it would look like.

Castiel and Cole, given their compact frames, were more qualified to get in and out of tight situations, and were therefore put on the rescue team. Charlie was manning the LED monitors from inside the truck, gaining perspective on the fire’s ratio, and relaying the message to the guys. Chuck was barking orders over the unforgiving current screeching in the air, leaving Benny and his successors with their hands behind their backs.

After ten minutes of radio silence from the lead rescuers, the rest of the crew was sent in. The head technician was belting out maneuver strategies like tomorrow would never come. Adam and Garth had their ears on, but there was no word of Castiel or Cole.

Then, a startling realization hit him: “Charlie, where’s Dean?” He hadn’t heard word from him since the team split hairs back in the conference room.

“They sent out a search party, I think,” she replied, distracted. “He went off the grid.”

Under duress, Benny set his eyes on the monitor. “What do you mean ‘off the ‘grid’?”

“What the hell else does ‘off the grid’ mean, Lieutenant?” Charlie froze with the paralyzing realization of what she’d said before she continued encoding and decoding the system. “He went in without proper sanction, and then instead of going on the route I gave him, he veered south then…”

Charlie didn’t have to finish the rest. To say that it was common to lose men in time of tragedy would be an understatement. Only, the thing about Dean was that he was deliberately running toward the hot spot. Benny didn’t know how they ran things back in Lawrence, but unless he had a death wish, this was the biggest slipup in history.

Just as the redhead was just about to blow a circuit, a figure burst through the door. Part of Benny hoped it was Dean, but as it turned out, it was someone better.

“I’m Kevin Freaking Solo.”

Kevin, their interning engineer, wore a smug smile and his hands on his hips. Though seriously lacking in the height department, Kevin made up for it in his technological expertise. If there was anyone who could pull their asses out of the fire, it was him.

While the two got down to work—which was basically Kevin shouting even more orders at the wonky processor—Benny seized the opportunity to step outside and help the inbound civilians evacuating the building. Fortunately, they all received the medical attention they needed. Benny wouldn’t be a firefighter if he didn’t save a few lives now and then.

The next victim came out in a yellow jumpsuit, leaning heavily against Castiel. Printed on the side of his soiled helmet were the numbers 205, as in Station 205, but the brown stain on his lapel was what set him apart from his colleagues.

Before he could catch his bated breath, Benny was helping Dean out of his facemask and _jeez,_ for a guy who nearly died in the line of fire, he made damn sure he was strapped in. Prying the mask off him was equivalent to tearing off a Chinese suction cup. What made it even harder was that he was swaying back and forth like one of those inflatable air dancers at those low-end car washes.

Eventually, it was Cas who was successful in removing the helmet. Only, underneath the fogged glass wasn’t Dean Winchester. The guy standing before them had long, chocolate-brown hair that stuck to his sideburns and big, brown stupefied eyes. He was taller than Dean, with thinly pursed lips and a rumpled forehead.

_…The guy’s six-foot-four, pure muscle and Hemsworth hair…_

“Wait, you’re not Sam Winchester, are you?”

The man turned toward him, but not before letting out a coughing fit. His answer came out in a deep-throated rasp not unlike his brother’s: “Yeah… why?”

There was only a split second before Benny hit the ground running.

****

There’s nothing like the smell of formaldehyde to pinch those early morning nose hairs. Most of the content from the doubled over jars was charred to a crisp, along with everything else. There was no way a coroner was this careless. Best guess, some bastard that owed money with all the wrong people. Or the culprit needed to cough up an arm and a leg—quite literally, it seems—for his medication. The economy was an under-oiled machine and that, exercised with enough push to call it a shove, can drive anyone to commit a crime. Body parts are a sellout on the black market these days.

The ceiling hung menacingly over his head. Crunching underneath his war-torn waders was great hunks of drywall that looked like they’d been manhandled and put through the grind. The distance, though shrouded by umpteen layers of smoke, gave away the faint illumination of a body. The real challenge was crossing the few-footed threshold without brushing against anything of potential danger to him or the casualty.

Which, in retrospect, was just about everything around him.

As if on whim, he began to feel the humidity inside the confined space sticking to his skin like a vacuum seal bag. He took a step forward, bracing for the probability that it might be his last. When he bent down and felt something stiff underneath his patted gloves, he knew he’d found the sufferer. He overturned the body so that it was lying face up toward him, careful where he repositioned it not to put the person in more harm’s way than necessary.

What he saw left him gobsmacked in the middle of everything.

“Winchester!” he wailed through his facemask. He shoved his chest, where a state-issued fireman’s t-shirt two sizes too large was the only thing shielding him from the crumbing world around him. “Hey, Dean!” he tried again, desperate for a response, any response. Without hesitation, Benny’s hands were flying to Dean’s torso, pumping several times before bending into his personal space to proceed with mouth-to-mouth.

Moments passed and silence returned his mute prayer. Fortunately, he was light enough that Benny could effectively haul him into his arms and carry him out. Whether or not he was carrying out a corpse was beyond his grasp. It’s not like it would be the first time.

The last thing he saw was the ceiling circling around him. Then the world faded to black.

***

“Well, that was fucking stupid.”

Benny chuckled; sitting beside him on the open end of the EMT was the one and only Dean Winchester, out of the frying pan and—well, fortunately, out of the fire.

Turns out that the collapse they’d been pinned beneath made a gaping rift on the lower level of the building. It was so big that it didn’t take someone like Sargent Trenton, ex-military tactician, to point out the obvious. (Even though Benny knows he’ll take the credit when he receives his Medal of Valor.) Kevin managed to reboot the system and Charlie did the honor of shouting some very crude things that startled them awake in no time. The rest was left to Chuck, who grumbled something about early retirement.

The story was a bit anticlimactic for his taste, but hey, they’re alive. Besides, there’ll be time to rewrite history _after_ they’ve been properly examined. “I was expecting something more along the lines of ‘Thanks for saving my ass.’”

“I’m sorry; I must have missed that part while you were passed out on top of me.”

Benny scoffed, “Humor the old guy, would ya?”

“Oh, Benny,” Dean swooned in a falsetto, batting his long lashes, “you’re my hero.”

The thirty-something Lieutenant shoved him with his right side. The creamy ashes that ruled the sky with an iron fist decided to unfetter the sun from its shackles. The building hadn’t been so lucky. While the place wasn’t seared to giant toothpicks, the damage was still catastrophic. Between the broken windows and caved-in floors, many of the employees would have to take up a craft in construction to hold down their wallets.

Over the next few minutes, Dean grew quiet. He kept his head angled at his bandaged hand like the fate of the fire department depended on it. He still wore Benny’s plus-size shirt—the one that managed to stay barbeque-free for well over twenty-four hours and survived a mass hysteria. If he had any jurisdiction over the matter, he’d never let him take it off. In spite of the fact that he was caked in cement and blood and shiners that’ll last him from here to Hong Kong, he was still so beautiful. How someone could get beaten up by a three-story infrastructure and walk out looking like a million bucks defied every law of physics.

But there was more to his story than the charismatic and handsome character. Dean was harboring something much larger than himself. He had enough tears in those Granny Smiths of his to submerge the entire Northwestern United States.

“Tomorrow’s the anniversary of my mom’s death. Twenty years to the date. It’s funny how I still remember it like it was yesterday, you know?” Dean shook his head, keeping his tears straddled on either side of his eyes. A small smile quivered at the corner of his mouth. “Sammy, God, I don’t know if he’s braver or stupider than I am. He just sat in his crib, staring up at this great big fire spinning around him. Then Dad, you know, he just hauled ass and never looked back, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t forget about the one person who cut the crust off my PB&Js and sang me to sleep at night.”

That’s why you became a firefighter, he thought, only Dean nodded reverently and Benny realized those words were a heartbeat from staying within the confines of his mind.

Where words lacked, actions sufficed. The older gentleman slung his arm around his shoulder, effectively pulling him into his torso. Dean stayed that way for centuries. Nothing was exchanged between the two but the comfort of two bodies—though bruised and bloodied and shaken to the bone—pressed against each other.

Benny must have missed Gadreel sauntering up to them, melancholy reflecting in his eyes. Before either man could get a word in, the six-foot Jolly Green Giant was removing his shirt as an offering to the attractive crying man. It was then Dean noted the state of his adopted shirt, floured and frayed around the edges.

The wider of the two of them gaped at him. “Gadreel, where’s your uniform?”

“Oh, I don’t own one, Lieutenant,” he replied as he involuntarily flexed his upper breast. Benny was torn between a thousand different questions as Gadreel went on to say, “I’m not a bonafide firefighter, I just hose down the trucks, keep up maintenance, things like that.”

Benny laughed, “Then what’re you doing down here?” He would’ve reprimanded him for going against protocol, but hell the guy was standing there, topless in the middle of a possible crime scene, donating his jersey to someone he barely knew.

“I heard the team was in trouble, particularly the cute guy standing next to the grumpy ex-mafia guy.” Gadreel motioned to Castiel, whose face closely resembled a cherry tomato as he waved back. “He’s the reason I took the job.”

Benny didn’t have a hard time stifling his surprise, just like he didn’t have a hard time bringing his and Dean’s lips together for the first but definitely not the last time that day. He took in his surroundings—the lingering smell of burning wood, the totaled building, the shining sun at mercy of the faraway horizon—and never in his thirty plus years of experience could he recall anything being more dull in his life.


End file.
